Middle Earth Soccer! Hobbits vs Dragons!
by EvilReceptionistOfDoom
Summary: Third quarterfinal match, and it couldn't be more unfair... or could it? What happens if your goalie eats the ref? Will our small friends survive? And what does roasted hobbit actually smell like? Read it and find out!
1. Pregame

_**Note:** Hello hello hello! I'm back! I don't know how long it will be before I update... at least a few days, because I'm gone... but you should still read this and review it or you'll never ever hear the end. And, hey, you could always put me on your alerts list... that would be cool..._

PREGAME

"Welcome again to the 2760 Arda Cup Quarterfinals! I'm Bretmyrtl Kanithion-"

"-and I'm Athonin Merrypus-"

"-and we're here at ME Wireless Emyn Muil Stadium for the third quarterfinal match of this the 1,463rd Arda Cup to see who will proceed to the Semifinals against-"

"Fifty-third."

"Huh?"

"This is the 1,453rd Arda Cup. You said 63rd."

"Uh, okay... Um, today we'll see who will proceed to the Semifinals against Rohan, who won in the first quarterfinal against the Moria team, disappointing dwarves everywhere and leading to the vandalism of several Rohirric horses. Among the victims was popular Rohan bard Bronwyn the Blonde, who exited an inn where she had been celebrating with fellow fans to find her stallion painted in dwarvish runes translating to some things they won't allow me to say on the air."

"This is only one of many football-provoked incidents throughout Middle Earth this week - following the Mordor-Mirkwood match yesterday, bands of vengeful orcs went marauding throughout lands known to be friendly to the elves, lands known to be neutral to the elves, lands known to be friendly to lands known to be harbouring elves, and... well, pretty much everywhere."

"In the Black Lands a pro-Mordor mob ransacked an Ephel Duath pub where Morgul natives were said to be gloating over their neighbouring orcs' loss. The retaliation resulted in the deaths of all parties involved and the fiery explosion of the pub and two nearby barracks. This incident was mirrored in dozens of places across Mordor and the surrounding area, with scattered incidents among the goblins of the Misty Mountains. Many hundred slaves were also killed by orcs in blind retribution."

"Don't forget Rondafunk the Beigey-Tan with Fuschia Accents, the match's ref, who was slain by Mordor forward Groshmok after Groshmok was red-carded..."

"Rondafunk is currently at Isengard with his fellow Maiar undergoing a procedure to restore him to life. The wizards are considering a departure from the traditional white for Rondafunk's post-resurrection color scheme. Possibilities under review include royal purple, burnt siena, and black."

"Today's ref, however, will be Figglenob the Puce, an avid football fan and frequent official at Cup matches."

"And today's competitors will be the Shire and the Ered Mithuin teams. The Shire is a surprise coming into this match, isn't that right, Ath?"

"It is indeed. A halfling soccer team has not qualified for the Arda Cup since... well, since... uh... a really long time ago."

"Actually, the last time the hobbits were in the Cup was only about a hundred years ago, when the beastly Isengrim Took led his team to the Quarterfinals, where they were promptly massacred by Mordor. And I do mean that literally - only Isengrim and one other player escaped alive."

"Speaking of beastly hobbits, this year's team captain is the grandson of Isengrim, Bandobras 'Bullroarer' Took, and never has a football-playng halfling brought so much press coverage. Bullroarer has a rabid following back in the Shire, and tweens all across this Middle Earth have been turning out in the screaming thousands to see him play. Today is no exception - I can hear them shrieking and waving their garish placards from here, and, Ulmo, I wish I couldn't. What a terrible racket."

"However impressive the hobbit captain is, however, he'll have to pull something really sly out of his ear today, because with the sizzling defeat of Breeland last Tuesday the halflings are looking at a match against the Grey Mountains - and you know what that means, don't you?"

"Enlighten me, Bret. Wait - could it be your favorite word? 'Massacre'? 'Bloodbath'? Or possibly 'Utterly unfair'?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Merrypus. Though I do want to point out that half of the men of Bree are in hospital at the moment with second- and third-degree burns, along with a good deal of spectators who were caught in the cross-fire, so to speak."

"Then what were you going to say?"

"I was going to say 'Roasted hobbit'. Now how about some football?"


	2. First Half

FIRST HALF

"The players have entered the pitch... Dear Yavanna, I can't watch. There's hardly enough room on the field for the dragons at all, and yet the hobbits will have to run twice as far to reach the opposite goal - this is just so totally not fair-"

"Oh, shut up, Merrypus. This is how the lottery falls - sometimes the match'll be even, and sometimes, well... sometimes it won't. That's what makes things interesting. And Figglenob the Puce is stepping out into the pitch with the ball..."

"There's Bullroarer Took - facing off against the Ered Mithrin captain, Swafa the Great - forty feet from nose to tail-tip, green and scaled over in impregnable armor, except on his tender underbelly, which scrapes the ground - how MEFA can allow such a travesty, I cannot fathom..."

"For goodness' sake, don't be such a wet blanket! THIS is the sort of thing people watch this sport for!"

"The chance to see a bunch of kind and innocent hobbits get trampled to death by great waddling reptiles?"

"Yes, exactly. ...And now the ball's in play! Swafa's caught it before it even hit the ground-"

"Shire forward Jack Middleburrow weaves around the dragon's pounding feet trying to intercept-"

"-but Swafa's having none of it. He's bouncing the ball between his wing-shoulders... Is he laughing? Why, I do believe he is!"

"Oo, the nerve! This is utterly unsportsmanlike behaviour. He should be yellow-carded for taunting an opposing player!"

"You know very well there's no such penalty. Swafa's ambling downfield in no particular hurry - the hobbits are mobbing him but it doesn't look to be having any effect... except that maybe he's laughing harder..."

"Aren't you supposed to be objective in your commentary, Bret?"

"Aren't YOU, Mr Don't-Let-the-Evil-Dragons-Hurt-the-Cute-Little-Hobbits? Mr Elves-Can-Do-Nothing-Wrong? Where's YOUR objectivity?"

"Don't you start with me-"

"Swafa passes to Redgrave the Defiler, who whips the ball towards the Shire goal with his tail-"

"Missed by a mile. Serves him right."

"Is that unbiased commentary, Ath? I never knew-"

"I'm sorry, were you talking? Pogo Toadbottle throws it in, but Grigory Chubb is cut off from receiving the throw by the agile Yarma, the youngest player on the Ered Mithrin team and also the smallest at twelve feet long, who flew to catch the ball in his teeth before it could fall. And-"

"And it looks like he's popped it with his dagger-like incisors. Figglenob's called time out..."

"They're bringing in a new ball - replacing it on the ground below where Yarma's hovering - and time in!"

"The dragon swoops down and scoops up the ball, though gently this time... and it looks like he's gotten Chubb in his mouth with it!"

"Yellow card! Yellow card!"

"No, indeed, Ath, it was purely accidental, and the Puce Wizard ought to be taking that into account - which he is, being objective, unlike you..."

"Yarma's spit the hobbit out and the ball with him-"

"Both have crashed right into the goal! Grigory Chubb slams right into keeper Hambutt Weevil and bowls him over, while the ball- OH!"

"It rolled to a stop just outside the goal line! What luck for the little folk! And now Bosco Lardbottom's got it - he's driving downpitch-"

"Intercepted by Orogoth! The dragon noses the ball to Slog, who blows a huge blast of steam and-"

"-and incinerates the ball. There's the whistle again."

"This isn't an uncommon occurrence in matches involving dragon players, in particular all-dragon teams. In the last Cup Ered Mithrin managed to destroy twenty-two balls within the first ten minutes of the match, breaking the previous record of twenty-two balls in eleven minutes set in 2242. The most impressive, however, was the five hundred thirty balls ruined in a single match twelve hundred years ago in which Ered Mithrin was competing against-"

"-and play's resumed. Muggo Proudhandle has gotten the ball and is maneuvering between the dragons, who are too large to get around each other. He passes to Pondipot Longbrow, who's somehow already snuck downfield-"

"Longbrow takes a shot, but as keeper Fabord the Buttmuncher takes up the entire box, it bounces off the dragon's side. I was speaking, you know-"

"Pondipot takes another shot - no good."

"Fabord is a wingless dragon weighing over eight tons, famed more for his size than his skill. He appears to be napping at the moment."

"Longbrow passes to Proudhandle, who takes a shot - no good-"

"I don't know why they bother. The goal is entirely hidden behind Fabord's bulk. No even the crossbar is visible - shoot, not even the lines of the box are visible! But then no one's ever said too much for hobbit intelligence..."

"And is that objective, too, Bret? You can't tell me-"

"AND now the Ered Mithrin players are looking bored. Maudreg's trundling up to take the ball away..."

"Longbrow sees him and passes to Mumbo Flubb-"

"Scaum's moving to intercept him-"

"Flubb passes to Lardbottom-"

"And there's Glormor."

"Lardbottom to Grandoc Goodbutter-"

"How long is this going to go on for? I say why don't the dragons just immolate the halflings and be done with it-"

"Goodbutter to Proudhandle - that's in very bad taste, Bret."

"So? This is boring."

"So are you, but I don't go around calling for you to be burned alive, do I?"

"That's because you're boring, too. And now finally the ball's intercepted! Yarma's swept in and snatched in into his mouth once more-"

"That's got to be some sort of penalty-"

"He's reached the end of the field - Ortabong of the Massive Wings is ready-"

"Ban Butzbindle-Bundlebom leaps to intercept-"

"-but in vain, as he's three feet tall and the dragon's twenty feet in the air. Weevil's bound to have a hard time blocking this one!"

"Ortabong knocks it to Yarma, who deflects the ball down-"

"-but not down far enough. The shot sails right over the goal."

"Shire ball. You'd think the dragon players would know not to fly quite so far above their target..."

"Butzbindle-Bundlebom passes to Toadbottle, who passes to Flubb-"

"-who runs it past the oversized lizards to Pondipot Longbrow-"

"-who takes it to the box and again takes a hopelessly futile shot. You'd think the halfling players would learn not to keep kicking at an impenetrable scaly barrier..."

"Something's happening-"

"Yes, I hear it too - dragon laughter. You've never seen such amusement out of a group of monstrous reptiles as we're now wit-"

"No, no, no. They're shouting at the Buttmuncher - the Shire team, I mean. Look, I think Fabord's waking up!"

"So THAT's why the hobbits were so persistantly kicking the ball into him. Speaking of which, where's the Bullroarer been at all this time?"

"He's- uh, I don't see him. But look! The dragon keeper's gotten to his feet-"

"THERE'S the Bullroarer! He's racing like the wind out from behind Maudreg, where I guess he was hiding..."

"Fabord's still groggy - doesn't see him-"

"-but Yarma does! He swoops down-"

"-but while he's busy paying attention to Bandobras Took, Mumbo Flubb's gone and kicked the ball into the Ered Mithrin goal, right under Fabord the Buttmuncher's oversized belly!"

"NO goal! The ball is lodged between the dragon's stomach and the ground just inches outside the line!"

"And that's- MIGHTY ULMO!"

"Listeners, Fabord has just- I mean, in his grogginess, I suppose the dragon mistook the impact of the ball against his belly for- well, what I mean to say is, he was understandably startled-"

"What you mean to say is that FABORD JUST COUGHED A TEN-FOOT MASS OF FLAME AT MUMBO FLUBB."

"Well, something like that... There are medics running onto the field- fortunately all of the Shire players were instructed in Stop-Drop-and-Roll techniques for extinguishing themselves in case of one such circumstance as this, and Flubb has been rolling on the pitch for a full minute now - I think the fire's out."

"He IS still smoking..."

"What hobbit isn't? It's just as well, anyhow - the first half of the match was almost over. Looks like Figglenob's coming out to have a chat with Fabord."

"Flubb's being escorted off the pitch - don't think he'll be coming back for the remainder of the game."

"Incidentally, there's an interesting story behind how the Ered Mithrin goalie earned the epithet Buttmuncher..."

"Do we REALLY need to hear this, Bret?"

"How else should I fill the time? I expect the ref'll be arguing with the dragons for quite a while."

"About what? Burning your opponents is against the rules!"

"Well, I wouldn't be so sure about that... Anyhow, legend has it that Fabord once was fighting some kind of brave knight or something, but he was too fat to move himself off of his treasure pile, so he begged for mercy instead. The knight, being a Numenorean, was into all of that chivalry nonsense, so of course he agreed-"

"Is this story actually going anywhere?"

"Of course it is. Let me finish. Anyhow, so the knight agrees, and Fabord says, 'I'd like you to have this beautiful sword I took from Gondolin, as a sign of my gratitude. It's just there on the wall above the door.' And so the knight turns around to look at the sword. 'I don't see anything,' he says. 'Look harder,' says Fabord. And while the knight's back is turned, the dragon scoots up behind him and opens his mouth and CHOMP! No more knight!"

"You know, I really ought to have expected you to tell something so utterly idiotic... oh, but wait, I did."

"Anyhow, that's why he's called the Buttmuncher."

"Lovely. And now Figglenob's holding up - ah, it's about time! RED CARD!"

"WHAT! That was ACCIDENTAL!"

"Oh, fiddlesticks. Anyhow, that's the end of the first half. When we return, Fabord the Buttmuncher will not be watching the Ered Mithrin goal-"

"Hmph. Well, it's no score hobbits or dragons, and after these messages, we'll see whether the halflings' ridiculous luck holds or not-"

"Objective, Bret..."

"Hey, Merrypus?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Shut up."


	3. Second Half

_**Note.** So, as it turns out, I was writing "Ered Mithuin" for no reason I can readily surmise throughout the pregame part of the match, and I'm too lazy to fix it. It's "Ered Mithrin". Just so you know._

SECOND HALF

"Here we're back at Middle Earth Wireless Stadium, previously known as Emyn Muil Stadium, where the weather's cool and the score is zero-zero. The dragons will be playing the rest of the game without a keeper, since Fabord the Buttmuncher was red-carded just prior to the break for trying - alas, unsuccessfully - to incinerate hobbit striker Mumbo Flubb. This should make little difference in the halflings' chances at winning, I should say-"

"Actually, Bret, it will make a huge difference. Before they had no chance at all-"

"-and now they've VIRTUALLY no chance. Yes. Anyhow, Marilac Porridgeface of Oatbarton will be coming in for Flubb-"

"-who's been taken to hospital with second and third degree burns on his upper half-"

"-leaving the Shire two more substitutions. And the hobbits have the ball!"

"Pogo Toadbottle passes to Bandobras Took, who, much to the disappointment of his fans, hid behind six-ton dragon Maudreg throughout the entire first half of the match. Took takes it past Glormor and kicks it under the hovering Yarma to Grandoc Goodbutter, who passes to Pondipot Longbrow-"

"Intercepted! Swafa the Great slams his massive tail down in the path of the ball and deflects it to Redgrave the Defiler. Looks like Ered Mithrin's through waiting around for the halflings to tire."

"Oh, was that what they were doing? I thought they were too paralysed by laughter to make any offensive plays."

"Yes, well, that too. At any rate, Redgrave's just spit the ball to Ortabong of the Massive Wings, who caught it in his mouth and- and the ball's on fire."

"Is he actually going to try and make a goal with it?"

"Why not? And he sends it into the Shire goal with a scorching blast of breath - Hambutt Weevil jumps out of the way-"

"Where's the ball? Was it a goal or not?"

"Uh... The officials are having some difficulty..."

"NO GOAL! The ball was vaporized by the dragon's flames somewhere outside the cage. Bad luck."

"What, is that sarcasm I detect in your voice, Merrypus?"

"No, of course not. I'm ALWAYS perfectly sincere, you know that. A new ball - the fourth of the match - has been put into play and now the hobbits are trying to get it downfield-"

"They get nowhere! The Worm Montague trips Marilac Porridgeface flat on his face with his tail and the ball's free-"

"Yellow card! Good, looks like Figglenob's actually got the right idea this time. Another charade like that and Montague's out of the match for good."

"Yellow card? THAT? There wasn't even blood shed! Is the Puce wizard become so soft-"

"Hobbit ball."

"What ridiculousness..."

"Toadbottle takes it past Swafa - past Glormor - passes to Muggo Proudhandle - oh, and it's 'ridiculosity', not 'ridiculousness'. 'Ridiculousness' isn't a word."

"Actually, I think it is. Proudhandle kicks it into the dragon goal, but it's easily blocked by Maudreg - Orogoth takes it in his mouth and barrels through the Shire defenders towards the box - he's going to get it in this time..."

"Weevil's looking a little scared-"

"WHAT! What is this nonsense?! I don't- By the Valar-"

"What happened? All I saw was Orogoth, who is wingless and fairly bulky, racing towards the hobbit goal, when suddenly he collapsed. Medics are running on to the pitch..."

"This is some kind of hobbit treachery, I tell you..."

"'Hobbit treachery'? Are you serious? Bret, these are HOBBITS, not goblins."

"Well, how else do you explain it?"

"That would be what the doctors are going to tell us in a moment."

"You know, this is not the first time a player's collapsed mid-game, not by a long shot..."

"Oh, Yavanna, not again..."

"Notwithstanding the very recent Rohan vs. Moria match, in which dwarf player Miner suffered a fatal heart attack when passed to twice, just last year Lothlorien team captain Lamalas Melwasul collapsed following the game-winning goal against Minas Morgul. After he was rushed to hospital it was discovered his water-bottle had been doped with a fast-acting poison at some point during the match. Unfortunately Lamalas did not survive, and the culprit was never found, though many suspect Morgul keeper Gr-"

"-and we've just got the report from the medics: Orogoth has had a major coronary infarction, that is to say a heart attack-"

"-which makes two in the quarterfinals alone! Of course, there were ten in one match back in-"

"Enough with the stories, Bret! Let me finish!"

"But that was an amusing story! It was back in the First Age, the poor oppressed peoples of Middle Earth vs the Balrogs of Iron Hell! Almost the whole oppressed peoples team died of fright in the first five minutes of the match! It's an historic game!"

"Yeah, okay, whatever. But apparently Orogoth's heart failure was caused by - get this - overdose of anabolic steroids. Steroids! A dragon using steroids!"

"Hmm, that might explain those rippling haunches... that beastly tail... the fact that he could run up to forty miles an hour despite his weight..."

"Well, anyhow, it's no goal and Ered Mithuin is substituting- wait."

"There's some kind of altercation going on between the referee and Swafa the Great..."

"HA! Orogoth's been posthumously red-carded for cheating! Ha ha HA!"

"Posthumously red-carded? They can't even do that! I mean, steroids are bad and unsportsdragonly and all that, but COME ON..."

"So the dragons will not- OH!"

"Ha, that's... hoo boy. Swafa in his anger just breathed fire on Figglenob-"

"-who is, of course, unharmed - though his robe looks a little worse-for-wear-"

"-but the wizard sure doesn't look happy. And... RED CARD! Gracious Ulmo in the Western Sea..."

"THREE red cards for Ered Mithuin now. This gives the halflings a great advantage-"

"-hardly..."

"The dragons will now be playing with only eight against the hobbits' eleven, which... well, the Shire's still at a disadvantage, but it's less of a disadvantage."

"Give me a break, Ath..."

"Oh, nonsense, the match is almost over. Hobbit ball!"

"Pondipot Longbrow takes it downfield - kicks to Bosco Lardbottom-"

"Lardbottom to Grandoc Goodbutter, who's dodging dragons right and left-"

"-and their plumes of fire-"

"Goodbutter's rump is aflame! But he's still going to take a shot!"

"Slog thunders in to stop him-"

"Grandoc fakes to Ban Butzbindle-Bundlebom! Butzbindle-Bundlebom fakes to Bandobras Took, and Took takes a shot before the dragons can react and-"

"-and Redgrave shoots a great blast of fire after the ball to scorch it all into cinders-"

"-but he misses by an inch and the ball rolls into the Ered Mithrin goal! SHIRE SCORES! And that's the match!"

"WHAT? Folks, what we've just witnessed is- well, is pretty much unprecedented. The hobbits have just, against all odds, beaten the dragons 1-0. I can't believe it. The crowd is going insane."

"The dragon team are looking a little insane themselves. After the repercussions from last match... I dunno, I'd get out of that stadium pretty fast."

"Which the halflings are doing, as fast as those short hairy little legs can carry them. They've hoisted the Bullroarer aloft and are flanked by about a jillion shrieking preteen big people - not to mention screaming hobbit women..."

"Bret, let's leave."

"Hmm? What's wrong, Ath, scared the dragons'll be doing a little laying waste here?"

"Duh."

"Well, I think you're just prejudice. Just because one stupid little-"

"Bret, Ortabong just incinerated the Shire goal. WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW."

"Nonsense. And now the spectators are pushing for the exits with a little more violence than before-"

"Bret-"

"I think I hear screams of terror-"

"BRET-"

"What's that whooshing sound?"

"BRET! DRAGON!!!"

"Um, ladies and gentlemen, join us next time for the final quaterfinal match of the 1,463rd-"

"Fifty-third!"

"-1,453rd Arda Cup! We'll be there!! RUN!"

_**There you have it,** ladies and gentlemen. The next match is forthcoming, but if nobody minds I think I'll skip the semifinals and go straight to the big match after that. It's coming soon! Don't go away! I promise I'll add it within two weeks, I promise!_

_Yes. Done now._


End file.
